


Exceeding the Scope of the Contract

by florahart



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Brief Grant Ward - Freeform, Cuddling & Snuggling, First Meeting, Fury Knows All, Kissing, M/M, Mistaken Identity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2019-04-19 14:31:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14239320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/florahart/pseuds/florahart
Summary: Phil has hired someone, sight unseen, for professional cuddling.He's a little surprised about who shows up.





	Exceeding the Scope of the Contract

**Author's Note:**

> So, I prompted mistaken identity Clint/Coulson professional cuddling fic for an exchange a while back, but I got something else (because I mean, there were multiple prompts! so the author wrote another one!) so...here we are.

"This is ...really not what I expected you to be wearing." Phil gave the guy a good look up and down as he held out one hand and resisted the urge to recite his name and title because hello, completely off the clock, that was the point. Unzipped oversize hoodie over a sleeveless top of various shades of purple, torn jeans, some kind of weird wrist brace, funky stylized bag over one shoulder. It was a look that worked for him in a way Phil previously would not have expected worked for anyone, even if he did have two bandaids on his face and four more visible on his arms where the hoodie’s sleeves were pushed up. Oh, and one covering what must be a skinned knee, visible through one of the tears. He was also early; Phil had opened the door to go out and turn off the sprinklers just as the guy strolled up the walk.

The guy shrunk away from him slightly, offering, "Uh. Sorry?" He seemed a little tense, although he also had the kind of loose walk and muscular build that suggested a lot of very physical (and very appealing) competence. 

Phil opted not to comment on any of that and took back his hand because leaving it hanging like that was getting a little weird. "No, it's fine. I don't really know what I was expecting. Obviously you're not going to go around in pajamas or whatever; you'd have to bring them with you."

"Bring pajamas. With me. Uh."

Phil wondered if the guy got this job because ones that required conversation were too, well, conversational. "Anyway, come in. I was thinking we could just sit on the couch, watch TV for a little while ... is that appropriate?" He turned and led the way the three steps up to the door and waved the guy ahead of him.

The guy stepped inside obediently, looked around a little, and shrugged, heading for the couch. "Whatever, man. If I do the thing, I get paid either way."

The way he said it was odd. Phil turned to watch him go, and okay, actually, the jeans, torn or otherwise, did more than work for him; they were kind of fantastic on his ass. Which was neither here nor there; Phil was paying for professional cuddling, and regardless of the status of that ass, the degree of groping that had immediately sprung to mind was almost certainly outside the scope. As was every other filthy thing suddenly crowding his brain. He followed the guy into the living area and passed him to get to the TV. "How do you feel about Dog Cops?"

"No idea."

"Well, okay. If you hate it we can look for something else. I don't want you to be uncomfortable. Speaking of which, what should I call you? I’m Phil."

"Call me? Uh, okay, so Clint's fine. I guess."

Clint _was_ fine, but Phil managed not to say that out loud. He merely nodded and clicked through menus to get to his recorded episodes. He'd seen last week's before, but all he was looking for here was easy, mindless cuddling after two back to back incredibly stressful missions comprising nearly five weeks of constant tension, and it was fine if the background noise didn't need his particular attention. Hell, if he wanted it to need his attention, probably he would watch something with a bit more substance.

He toed off his shoes and sat down, patting the seat next to him. "So. How do you usually do this? I'm new to it all – do I just sort of lean into you?"

Clint blinked, slowly, then sucked his hoodie and sat down, bending forward to pull his own shoes off. "Sure? I mean, that’s an approach?"

Phil leaned tensely over, his shoulder barely touching Clint's chest. "This is weird, isn't it?"

"Little bit." Clint allowed. “Out of curiosity, how did you know I was outside?”

“I didn’t. I was going out to—damn it.” Phil got up and went to the door again, holding up one finger. “Be right back.” Because apparently, he was distractible from the simplest of tasks, if his currently still-running sprinklers were any indication, and sure, one day of excessive watering would kill nothing but cactus, probably, but he didn’t like that he’d seen Clint and promptly gotten sidetracked almost immediately. Apparently, he needed some touch therapy even more than he’d realized.

It really did only take a minute, and he was back inside, resuming his position leaning into Clint’s chest. He hadn’t even bothered putting his shoes back on, and now he brought up one foot at a time to pull off his socks as well. 

“Good, then,” Clint said. “I’m not losing my touch.”

“Of sneaking up on people?” Phil leaned a little more firmly and tugged Clint’s arm, resting on the back of the couch, down onto him.

“It’s among my skills, yes.”

“I see.” Phil absently watched the television for a moment, then frowned. “Seems like that would be maybe contrary to the whole relaxation goal.”

“I don’t have a relaxation goal.” 

“Right, but I do, obviously, and I’m saying having someone sneak up and do, I don’t know, surprise ninja cuddling would be contrary to it.”

"Surprise ninja cuddling."

"As opposed to the regular cuddling that one might expect from someone hired to cuddle him."

Clint’s hand moved a little on Phil’s arm, up and down, soothing. “I... okay, yeah, I get that.” He rubbed a little more, then twisted a little and bodily lifted Phil to be almost lying on top of him. And then, in some kind of crazy maneuver Phil actually found awesome despite his decades of work for an agency that dealt in the supernatural and astonishing, he managed to ditch his shirt, pulling Phil down onto his bare chest.

Phil had to agree with the choice; the warm, hard muscle under his cheek was basically everything he wanted in life, and now Clint’s rough hand was working on his back. “You’re good at this, though, so I’m not sure you need other skills.”

That got a barking laugh, and Phil looked up. “What?”

“I don’t think anyone has ever told me my barely-even-started backrubs are so great I don’t need anything else to get by.”

“Well, everyone else is wrong. You can just keep doing this.” Phil snuggled his face onto Clint’s chest, appreciating the way the nipple that wasn’t under his jaw peaked up in front of him.

“I’ll keep it in mind.”

Phil considered his options for a moment, then decided, all right, prostitution wasn’t what he’d paid for, but it _was_ definitely among the services offered by the somewhat unsavory, if well-vetted, entity he’d been in touch with, so probably it wouldn’t be shocking if he brought up his hand and touched that nipple. Worst case, he'd be told that it was across the line.

Clint tensed at the contact, but didn’t object, and when Phil looked up again, he looked a little hazy, so Phil gave a pinch and got a nice gasp.

“This okay? It’s not actually what we agreed to—“

“Uh. More than okay,” Clint squirmed and Phil looked up to find himself the focus of intense blue-gray eyes from just a few inches away. “Where are we going with this?” His voice had gone a little husky, and his face was flushing.

Phil wet his lips with his tongue and said, “Honestly? To my surprise I want it to be going to bed. You?”

Clint dragged Phil up his body and grabbed Phil’s ass with both hands, then lifted up to kiss him.

Thoroughly.

Jesus. Phil had his hands in Clint’s hair and his tongue in his mouth in seconds, and Clint groaned under him and squirmed them more comfortable yet again. Yes, this was a lot better than cuddling. Well, no, not better, necessarily. Circumstantially. For right now. Even if it was sudden and unexpected and, a part of Phil pointed out, unvetted. Phil told that part to shut up and enjoyed the ride.

After a few minutes (not nearly long enough, but Phil did note he felt a lot more relaxed than he had in a long time), Clint pulled back slightly and moved Phil again, slightly to the side. “More than okay, definitely, Christ, but so I’m going to tell you a thing here, and there’s a decent chance it will stress you out so, like, don’t panic?”

“It’ll stress me out?”

“Yes. I think there’s a small chance, like maybe 99 and a half percent or so, that who I am and who you think I am are not the same thing.”

Phil sat up abruptly. “I think you’re the person I hired, via an agency that specializes in a variety of activities some of which are frowned upon in polite society, to cuddle me for a hour because getting actual human touch is not a thing that I find easy in my line of work. You?”

“I think I’m sort of maybe supposed to have killed you by now?” Clint put his hands up, which was just as well since Phil had already moved into SHIELD mode and was straddling him in an instant, forearm across his throat. 

“I’d rather you didn’t.” From this position Phil could see the tiny device in Clint's ear, and frowned. "Is your employer listening in now?

“Yeah, shit, I mean, no, no listening and yes, me too on the rather not-ing. Those help me hear. I was coming in to scope out the situation, man. I was expecting, um, not someone who likes cuddling. Like, I go where they pay me to, but they _know_ I’m gonna have a look at the target first. They know I’m not down for putting an arrow into like a kid or something, so.”

“Do I look like a kid?”

“No. You look like a badass that has definitely made some people bleed.” 

“So my best option right now is to take you down.”

“Probably, although then we won’t get to see what else we can do that exceeds the scope of either contract. Or otherwise does something else besides meet the terms, because also, I’m definitely not killing you right now because probably your actual cuddler is moments from showing up and I would get caught, plus also I’m definitely not killing you right now.”

Phil considered the situation, shifting his weight back the tiniest bit but by no means relaxing. "An arrow?"

"Is my weapon of choice, which, let's review, we've already concluded I'm not using right now I said this was going to stress you out I didn't even have to tell you you know."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, I mean. I could have um cuddled you to sleep and then..." he gestured a quick break of the neck and made a crunching sound with his tongue.

"How reassuring. So why did you tell me?"

"Well, I'm not going to say I have never gone ahead and offed someone I just got a little dirty with, but like, that was because I didn't have another in. It's not my favorite. Also probably you have too if you're what you seem to be now."

"I usually choose a sniper rifle."

"For someone you just--"

"That... Has never come up, actually. Most of the sorts of people I would find myself sent in to dispatch are in settings which would not be conducive to a honey pot or similar."

"Good to know. So you're, what? Not FBI, and not CIA. NSA? Secret Service?"

Phil let up on the forearm across the throat, but retreated to a distance at which he'd see a move coming. "Neither."

"So that leaves... fuck. Fuck me. I guess you know Fury, and I guess his secrets and their secrets are laughing their asses off."

"I can neither confirm nor deny, but I do wonder what leads you to that conclusion."

"Yeah, I kinda can't either, but I would say, hypothetically, that a guy who leads the free world's most, um, uncompromising goodguy team might sometimes have a backup plan from outside the squad and for that matter outside the agency for if he's gotta go off book. Or like, outside the bounds of the law."

Phil stared for a long moment, looking again at the bare shoulders and chest and considering the archery angle, before involuntarily taking his eyes off his definitely unprofessional cuddler by literally facepalming. "You're Hawkeye."

"Not today I'm not, because contracts and my business... anyway, so your actual dude from the Cuddlery Department is probably whose shadow is coming up the walk out there so either I should skedaddle or you should shoo him."

"Skeddadle."

"Damn, I was hoping--"

"No, that was a comment on word choice. Although I think cuddlery is probably several orders of usage magnitude from inclusion into Webster's."

"Fine, so shoo him."

"So you can kill me in peace?"

"No! What, no. I already said I wasn't going to. Like, it's _still true_ that I never had to tell you a damn thing about this."

“No, I suppose not. You have a bit of a reputation.”

“With Fury. Yeah, hypothetically, I do.”

Phil didn't answer that, but did go open the door. On the other side was a tall man, lean, rangy, dark-haired with a toothy smile and a leather jacket. He held out a hand. "Phil Coulson? I'm Grant, here for our appointment?"

Phil nodded and reached to the side table for his wallet. "Hi. Unfortunately, I just got some news that requires my immediate attention. No time for professional cuddling today."

"Why don't I come in and we can talk?"

"I'm afraid it's urgent. Can't wait. I assume I owe for the full hour?" Phil pulled cash from the compartment and held it out, but Grant stepped forward, and while Phil could, of course, have disabled him, doing so in view of the neighbors wasn't high on his list so he stepped back.

Grant slid his hand inside his jacket. "I think we should discuss the details in private." 

"I think you should fuck off, Ward." Phil turned to see his erstwhile faux cuddler standing tense with his hoodie back on, hood pulled across to shadow his face, bow that must have been collapsed in his bag pulled taut. His voice was gruff and low, different from before and threatening.

Grant stared. "I just wanna get paid for my time, man." He put up his hands.

"Uh-huh. The man offered you cash. You should take it and leave."

Grant's demeanor changed, hardening suddenly, and as he turned slightly toward Clint Phil glanced in, confirming the holster and sidearm in his jacket. Damn it. "So you can take care of him yourself?"

"Pssh. I think he can take care of himself all on his own."

Phil took that as his cue, leaning right and ducking quickly, then coming up with a hard fake to the face and knee to the kidney. The next punch wasn't a fake, and the second knee was to the groin. Grant hit the floor with a groan, and Phil had both hands zip-tied behind him in seconds – he was off duty, but some things were just always in his pockets. He rolled him over, claimed the gun, and sighed. "See, this was supposed to be a relaxing afternoon. And your agency was supposed to be reputable."

"Ward's not the cuddling type," Clint said. "I'm guessing _my_ employer wanted a backup plan." He collapsed his bow and pistol-whipped (bow-whipped) Grant, then shrugged and shoved back his hood. "Sometimes happens, if they figure I'm gonna turn down the gig."

"So they sabotaged my cuddles? Rude."

"Nah, but this dickhead probably paid for the information. Also, you should definitely give him to Fury, because if you’re Phil _Coulson_ , well."

"I haven't confirmed or denied," Phil said.

"Whatever. But there's a good chance he's someone your colleagues are looking for, and he's also a snake. You should probably also call back the cuddlers because it’s not impossible there’s a dead or disabled snugglebuddy in an alley somewhere. Either way, I can't be here when you call the authorities, so..." He fidgeted with zipper on the hoodie and ducked his head a little. “Um, for obvious reasons?”

Phil nodded, scowling at the notion someone might have died for agreeing to rub his back. "Well.” He paused, then put it aside, compartmentalizing because it was a skill his life demanded. “Well, it's a damn shame. We've already missed most of this episode--" he nodded toward the TV-- "but I think you'd like the next one."

Clint chuckled, easing up a little. "I could come back? If you want."

Phil shook his head and started to reluctantly agree, but something about Clint’s anxious posture changed his mind. What the hell, he was usually a pretty good judge of character. "Better idea. Trust me?" 

"I just protected you even though you've seen my actual face."

"So, yes, then. Great. Ears?" Phil held out his hand until Clint pulled the little devices free, feeling a little bad about deliberately taking them away, but he was going to give them back and security was a thing. He retrieved his phone from the coffee table and dialed a number, then went in the kitchen and quietly reeled off a series of orders. 

As he came back in the room he said, "I was thinking you could wait in the bedroom," but Clint frowned and held out his hand. "What?"

"Ears," Clint said flatly. Phil handed them back and he put one in as he asked. "Now, what was that?"

Phil blinked. "You can't hear at all?"

"Twenty percent, twenty-five," Clint said, gesturing to his left ear, then his right. "Not enough to be useful for much besides hearing a car horn or gunshot nearby."

"I see." Phil wondered how one appropriately said, thanks for disabling yourself on my uninformed say-so. Well, now he knew. "I said, I was thinking you could wait in the bedroom."

"While your cleanup crew comes? Or your goon squad, to get me?"

"I could wait there with you."

Clint paused, then grinned. "You wanna cuddle in your bed while other people come over and deal with the guy who was supposed to kill you?"

"Seems better than cuddling on the couch while they do. Also, then you don't have to mask up again."

“You sayin’ you didn’t like my mask?”

“I like your face better,” Phil said.

“And my arms.”

“Probably goes without saying, although they are only incidentally covered by the tool of masking.” 

Clint shrugged. “Whatever. Anyway, nah, I’ll come back. You’ll have paperwork and phone calls and fuck if I know what all, and you seem like the kind of guy that won’t want to half-ass it. Also I said before you’re a guy who’s made people bleed, but I don’t think you’re so stone cold you can get it on while your colleagues come remove a hit man from the next room.”

“When you come back, will it be to kill me?”

“Man, how many times I gotta say… No, if I was gonna kill you I’d have simplified my life by a million percent and done it half an hour ago.”

“Good. Because I want you to come back. I still want those cuddles. And the kissing, too.”

“I think I can do better than that,” Clint said, shoving his feet into his shoes and cramming his tank top into the pocket of his hoodie. He went to the window and positioned himself to look out. “Your guys are here. I’ll just let myself out while you’re busy.” He headed for the bedroom as Phil made for the front door and waited for Clint to be out of sight.

Watching Felix and his team painfully rouse and ungently wrestle out the man that had intended to kill him could have been satisfying, but Phil had other things on his mind. He hurried through the paperwork, signed on the dotted line, and waved them all back out, then sat down on his couch with a thump.

It was way less fun without Clint, and he let his head drop back onto the cushion. Damn it, he didn’t even have a phone number to let him know the coast was clear. He counted out ten minutes, because Hawkeye _did_ have a reputation, and might just be watching, but there was no sign of him. Damn it.

He sighed, thought about his choices, and picked up his phone, waiting through three rings. 

“Yeah?”

“Marcus, I think I’m gonna need a favor. I need to contact Hawkeye.”

There was a deep sigh at the other end of the line and then a tone that told Phil he was on hold. After a moment, the line reopened. “Like hell, Cheese. Open the bedroom door, and don’t fucking tell me anything that’ll make my ears file for divorce from the rest of me.” He closed the connection.

Phil stared at the silent phone for a good ten seconds, then stood up and went to the bedroom.

“I said I’d come back,” Clint said, sprawled shirtless and barefoot on the bed. “I didn’t think you’d call Fury to check, though. If he puts out a hit on me, you better be ready to defend my honor.”

Phil laughed, closed the door, and crawled up onto the bed as well. “I’ll see what I can do.”


End file.
